Humour and pathos were strangely intermingled. We saw after a skirmish a score of fine young Australians laid out for burial, wounds gaping and clothes blood-clotted. Our hearts were wrung with anguish for mothers and sisters and wives back in the great South Land, ignorant as yet of their bereavement. A minute later the antics of some humorist would set the camp roaring with laughter. Anon some of our chaps would be wounded, and carried in on stretchers; then some bolting mules or a wrecked dug-out, or an explosion in the commissariat would set us laughing again. It is this saving grace of humour, as I have written before, that made life worth living in Gallipoli; but it also made the Gurkhas and the Tommies wonder what manner of men we were. The Englishmen regarded the Gallipoli campaign with great seriousness. The Indians appeared stoically indifferent. The Australians regard the whole show as a great adventure. It's not hard to guess how Shell Green got its name. No gift for nomenclature is needed to find names for Hell Spit, Casualty Corner, The Bloody Angle, or Shell Green. The whole green is pitted with holes made by the enemy's shells. Some months ago these shells played havoc with our men. Some were killed as they lay in their dug-outs, others slaughtered on their way to and from the beach, some while in swimming. But we learned our lesson. We got to know the safety spots and the danger zones. Day after day the shells fell harmlessly, pock-marking the face of the earth, but doing us no ill. The Turks thought we had guns on Shell Green. So when our artillery got busy, the Turks blazed away, "searching" the area. But after four months' searching they failed to silence our guns. The remarks of our troopers as the shells landed were many and varied, but all were inspired by a quaint, unquenchable humour. When the quartermaster's store of the 4th Light Horse was wrecked, and four soldiers crawled uninjured from the débris, their mates called out, "Your luck's in. Get a ticket in Tatt.'s."